


Another Trip Around the Sun

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Birthdays, Cake, Fluff, M/M, a touch of angst, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: It's Bucky's birthday, but he forgot. Clint didn't forget. Clint not only didn't forget, he went and made this the best birthday Bucky's ever had.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Winterhawk
Comments: 9
Kudos: 140





	Another Trip Around the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icywind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icywind/gifts).



It was the smell of biscuits that woke Bucky up, and then coffee and something sugary. He blinked and rolled over. The curtains that were normally closed were open and sunshine was streaming in. He blinked in confusion.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Clint called from the kitchen, and then he sauntered in carrying a tray. He was still in his purple sweatpants and gray t-shirt and his hair, well.

Bucky laughed. “I’d say the same thing, but your hair is doing remarkable things this morning.”

Clint just winked at him and set the tray down on the dresser. He pulled a plate off the tray and held it out with a flourish. “Happy Birthday, Buck.”

The plate had two flaky biscuits, a small cup of strawberry jelly, scrambled eggs, a few pieces of bacon, and a bowl of fruit, and Clint set it down on Bucky’s lap and leaned over to kiss him.

“Um, thanks,” Bucky answered. “I, uh,” he stuttered. He’d forgotten. He’d flat-out forgotten it was his birthday. He winced at a flood of memories. His sisters jumping on his bed and singing while Becca tickled him awake, his ma yelling at them to get down for breakfast, her own biscuits and sausage from Mr. Perkins’ butcher shop down the street. His ma pecking his cheek with a kiss like a victory and Bucky’s father saying “Happy Birthday, son” over the edge of his newspaper.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Clint asked with a small smile. He pulled his own coffee cup from the tray and leaned back against the headboard and stole a piece of bacon. He was always stealing little things, food or a sweatshirt or Bucky’s drink. He always did it with a smile, though, so Bucky let him do it.

“Maybe,” Bucky answered, still kind of lost in his memories of home. That’s what happened now. Normal people could just remember something, acknowledge it, and move on. Bucky couldn’t. He got stuck. This time it was his mother’s smile when he blinked, the sound of Becca’s voice in his ear, his father’s dark hair behind the newsprint.

“Hey,” Clint said, and he leaned against Bucky’s shoulder. “Is it your family?”

He always knew. It was like he could read the situation and guess right every time. Every time. It grounded Bucky and was like a hand reaching down over the cliff to pull him back up. He nodded. “Ma used to make biscuits for me.”

Clint beamed. “Taste these. Maybe our moms had the same recipe!”

Bucky stared. Clint never talked about his mother. Ever. He took a bite of the biscuit. It melted in his mouth. He held it out in front of him and stared. “This. . . this is amazing.” He looked over at Clint. If he’d been standing, he’d be bouncing on his toes. Now the bed jiggled a little.

“My mom taught me when I was, like, six. It’s really easy once you know how, though, so I remembered.” He stole another piece of bacon and popped it in his mouth. “There’s more of everything in the kitchen,” he said with a sheepish shrug.

Bucky grinned at him. “You made me biscuits.”

“And bacon,” Clint said and knocked his shoulder into Bucky’s. “Happy birthday.”

They shared breakfast.

After breakfast, Bucky took a shower and texted Steve. _Clint made me breakfast and had my ma’s biscuit recipe,_ he sent. _It was nice._

Steve sent back a smiley face and present emoji. Bucky sighed. Steve liked emojis way too much for Bucky’s taste.

He thought that was it. Birthdays were never big, thanks to when he grew up, and then the last couple years had been such upheaval for him that he just figured, well, if anyone were too old for birthdays it would definitely be him. He was surprised by breakfast today, even. He came out of the bathroom and threw his wet towel in the laundry basket in the hallway and then stopped short as he came into the living room. There was a festively decorated envelope taped to the TV. It had his name on it.

He pulled it carefully off the TV – someone was getting a stern talking to later about putting tape on their very expensive TV screen – and opened it. He had to read it twice to make sure he was really seeing it. In crayon scrawl, there was a command. “Go to the place that gives Clint life.” He read it a third time. Yep, still a crayon-scrawled command. He called out, “Clint? What the hell is this?” but he got no answer. The place that gives Clint life. That could be a couple of things, but the kitchen was right there, so he might as well check the obvious.

The coffee pot had been rinsed and dried, and there was an envelope stuffed inside. There was a picture of a cake and a cat blowing out the candle. Underneath was written, again in crayon, “Go to the other place that gives Clint life.” He laughed.

Ten minutes later he shoved open the door to the archery range. It was empty, but there was something sitting in the far corner. When Bucky got closer, he raised an eyebrow and shook his head. There was a stuffed puppy dog, a black poodle, and around its neck was a string with another envelope attached. This envelope simply had a magazine picture of Captain America’s shield on it. Bucky sighed.

He headed for the gym. When he got there, he took a deep breath to shout at Clint and tell him this was the easiest scavenger hunt he’d ever heard of but sitting on a chair in the entrance was a very elaborate . . . plastic water gun. It was full. When he grabbed it, the wall to the left dropped and revealed the obstacle course that Tony built for them a year ago. It was a fake city block but today it had streamers and balloons everywhere, so it looked less intimidating than usual. He approached cautiously, but Clint was good.

Five minutes later he was soaked, but he was through the course and laughing. At the exit sat a bag, and Clint was nowhere to be seen. He looked inside, and there was a set of clothes and a set of car keys. He grinned.

When he got to the car, he was wearing a pair of torn jeans, a black t-shirt, and white tennis shoes, and he was holding the stuffed poodle. Clint was standing there wearing his own jeans, brown Credence t-shirt and tennis shoes. He had his favorite green baseball hat on, and his sunglasses. Bucky walked right into him and pressed a kiss to his lips. “No more scavenger hunt?” he asked, still leaning against Clint.

“That’s kind of a tradition like the biscuits,” Clint said, and then he leaned in again. When he finally pulled back, he winked. “Come on, we’ve got another thing to do.”

They climbed in the car and Bucky set the dog between them. “Does it have a name?”

Clint looked horrified. “He’s yours. You have to name him.”

“Part of the tradition?”

Clint smiled at him and nodded. Quietly, he said, “When I was real little my mom did that. Always cooked my favorite breakfast, had a scavenger hunt around the house and a little present at the end. It was all we could really afford, but she made the whole thing fun. Barney kept it up a couple years, even our first year at the circus.” He paused. “I did it for him, too.”

Bucky felt like he’d been given another gift here in the car, with that story. “Okay,” he replied. “I thought it was fun.”

Clint grinned. “Yeah? Good. Well,” he added, “We’re done with my traditions. I just have a couple other ideas you might like.”

Having Clint focus on him was like a drug, Bucky thought for the millionth time since they started dating and then living together. Clint was a goofball, but he was also kind and funny and hot as hell and he acted like being with Bucky was the biggest gift the universe could give him. Bucky couldn’t figure out for the life of him what kind of present he was, but it was addicting, so he climbed into the car and let Clint turn the music up loud.

About forty-five minutes later they pulled into a parking lot of a strange, flat building with tall fences and nets in the field behind it. He cocked his head as he read the sign, “Jersey Line Batting Cages and Rec Center.” He turned to Clint. “What’s a batting cage? Should I be worried?” The word ‘cage’ had never turned out well for Bucky, but he trusted Clint.

“Oh, fuck,” Clint sputtered. “Shit. No. I mean, No, you shouldn’t be worried. It’s nothing bad, I promise, Bucky. Come on,” he said as he shut the car off.

Ten minutes later Clint was tugging Bucky out back to the field area and handing him a baseball bat. “You go on about playing stickball with Steve in an alley in Brooklyn, so I thought you might want to do this. It might be a bit more of a challenge,” he added. He pushed Bucky back against the wall in the little box area they were standing in. “Here, I’ll show you.” He pulled out a roll of quarters and put a few into the metal box near the door to their ‘cage.’ He stepped up to a home plate and pulled the bat back. Down the lane another box-like contraption had a light that started to blink. Clint lowered into a batting stance like a pro, and when the box spit a baseball out faster than Bucky had ever seen up close, he swung confidently and . . . missed.

The ball slammed into the pad behind him and Bucky laughed. “What’re you gonna show me, hotshot?” he asked.

Clint turned and glared and then turned back to the pitching machine as the light blinked again. This time when the pitch came Clint stepped into it properly and smacked the ball in a line drive down what would’ve been the third base line.

Bucky whooped. “Well, that was fuckin’ hot, Clint.”

Clint grinned. He hit a few more and then handed the bat to Bucky. “You’re up, ace.”

“I haven’t swung a baseball bat since 1933,” he grumbled, but he took the bat from Clint’s hands and stepped up to the plate.

“Pretend it’s a HYDRA commander?” Clint muttered as the ball launched, so Bucky was too busy laughing to swing.

“Only you, Barton,” he growled as he composed himself and stood to meet the next pitch. He stepped the way he remembered his pa teaching him to do, and he swung. The ball dribbled down the right of the plate.

He glared at it as Clint called, “Lift your elbow a little more, Barnes.”

When the next ball came, he listened to Clint’s advice and stepped in again. The crack of the bat against the ball was loud, and as he watched the ball sail all the way to the end of the field and over the high fence, he said, “Maybe should’ve taken the metal arm into consideration.”

Clint cracked up laughing.

At the end of two hours they were making bets and yelling at each other, and the employees were trying not to hover and watch, but they weren’t doing a good job of it. Apparently, Bucky and Clint were entertaining.

They were also sweaty, and when they finished and each had a Gatorade in their hand, Clint led them back to the car. He turned it on and cranked the air conditioning on high.

“You owe me twenty bucks, Barton,” Bucky said as he ran his hand through his sweaty hair. He leaned over and rifled through the glove box to find a hair tie. “What’s next?”

Clint grinned. “Can’t do baseball without ice cream.”

Clint insisted on ordering for both of them, and Bucky had the biggest hot fudge sundae he’d ever seen while Clint had a cotton candy milkshake.

“That’s gross, Clint.”

“Don’t judge. It actually does taste like cotton candy. The pink kind.”

“The milkshake is green.”

“Yeah, but it tastes like the pink kind,” Clint answered, his mouth full of ice cream.

Bucky handed over the cherry stem he’d tied with his tongue and Clint choked on his green pink cotton candy milkshake.

An hour later and they were walking their ice cream off while Bucky found himself back in Brooklyn and pointing out childhood landmarks.

“You don’t sound too sad,” Clint said. “I kinda thought maybe this would make you sad. I wasn’t sure if we should come.”

“I’m not sad,” Bucky said, and he found he wasn’t lying. “It’s nice to see some of the places, but there’s enough new stuff to remind me that things have changed. Besides,” he said with a smile, “You’re here. Tough to be sad when you’re around.”

Clint stopped in his tracks and stared. “You,” he started and then he swallowed and stared furiously at the ground, “Are a complete and utter sap.”

Bucky put his finger under Clint’s chin and tilted up so they were eye to eye. “Yeah,” he said. “About you. Look what you did for me, Clint,” he said, gesturing around. “You brought me home, and that’s after making this whole day about me. I’ve never had a birthday like this, even when my ma was making me breakfast and my sisters brought home balloons and a Steve’s ma made me a cake. Never.” He looked into Clint’s gorgeous green eyes and leaned in. He pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and smiled again. “The only way this could be better is if I could’ve introduced you to my ma and Becca, but this is still the best.” 

Clint grinned like the devil and kissed him again. “It’s not over yet,” he said, and walked away.

“What?” Bucky sputtered, but Clint refused to answer and only led them back to the car. He turned the music up loud again when Bucky climbed in, and they ended up back at the Tower. Clint refused to say a word even as they rode the elevator up to the common floor. When the doors opened, the whole team was standing there holding balloons, music was blaring from the speakers, and there were pink and blue and green and yellow streamers everywhere. Steve pulled him into a bear hug as soon as he stepped off the elevators, and everyone yelled, “Happy Birthday!"

There was pizza, cake, and a pool tournament that Bucky and Clint won easily. Tony gave him a Nintendo Switch, which apparently meant they could now play Mario Kart in bed, which made Clint deliriously happy. Natasha gave Bucky a sweater that apparently brought out his eyes, Maria handed him a knife with the most beautiful handle he’d seen since he woke up, Sam gave him a frisbee for some dumb reason, Thor gave him a blanket that he pulled around his shoulders and hoped that they buried him in one day, and Steve gave him a painting. It was of his mother, father, and sisters, and Bucky had to blink tears out of his eyes.

When he and Clint climbed into bed that night, Bucky brushed his hand through Clint’s hair and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. “That was amazing.”

“Shhh,” Clint replied, “I’m gonna play Stardew Valley. Nat says I’ll love it.”

Bucky hit him with a pillow and Clint set the Switch down with a laugh and leaned over Bucky instead, his hands on either side of Bucky’s broad shoulders.

“Never mind. I have a better idea than a video game,” he said, and he lowered to kiss Bucky and grind against him. The present he gave Bucky then was the most delicious icing on the cake he’d ever had, too.

It was the best birthday.


End file.
